I don't own Narnia or the Pevensies. But I do allude to them in practically every conversation I have.

Casting a worried look to their side, she suddenly realized that where she'd expected Peter to be hovering about, looking like a well-meaning rhinoceros in a pottery shop, he was instead sitting in one of the rather uncomfortable-looking chairs by the unlit fire, his head in his hands and his body drooping woefully.

"Peter?" she questioned. When she looked down she nearly jumped in surprise; Edmund had opened his eyes and rather than looking like someone who had just been beaten into unconsciousness, was looking ready to kick something.

"Pe…" he rasped, coughed, seemed to need to rest a second. Behind the hoarseness there was a powerful irritation.

"I'm so sorry," said Peter hollowly. "So, so sorry. I should never have brought you here. I should have gone alone. If I hadn't…"

"Shut up!" Edmund ground out, struggling to sit up. Lucy, nervously looking between her two brothers, tried to get Ed to lie still, but he slapped her hands away and used the headboard to push himself half-upright. She scrambled frantically to stop him from getting off the bed but it was too late; he slid off and staggered towards his older brother, wincing at his own pain but with his teeth clenched in thin fury as the High King continued.

"I'm so pathetic," said Peter. He faced away from them, his head still in his hands. "I'm supposed to protect a country and I couldn't even protect you and Susan. They ought to take me off the throne and crown someone who…"

Before Peter could finish his sentence, Edmund's fist, hampered by Lucy's desperate attempts to stop him, connected soundly with the side of the elder king's face. Caught by surprise, he was slammed up against the back of the chair, his hand automatically flying to his jaw, blue eyes open wide in astonishment, mouth gaping.

"You…!" he stammered angrily. Edmund's own eyes burned with rage and disappointment.

"No, not me!" he shouted, fists clenched at his side as Lucy hovered anxiously between them. "Not me. You, Peter! You're the one that convinced yourself you're pathetic or useless or guilty in all this!"

"You don't understand, Ed," choked Peter. "I…"

"You, you, you! It's always about you, isn't it? Everything is always your fault, like you somehow cause everything to happen. You're so modest, you've become an arrogant prig while my back was turned. Where are you, Peter? Why can't you…"

"You don't know what it's like!" Peter interrupted, standing up so that he was looking down at his brother. Lucy shrank back in fear. His face was contorted with sorrow and guilt and anger, unshed tears glinting at the corner of his eyes. "You didn't have to see her die!"

"I look up to you, Peter!" said Edmund vehemently. He did not flinch away from the elder king's intense stare but was drawing nearer to tears himself, his frustration boiling to the surface. Lucy bit her nails. "I look up to you to keep leading us no matter what happens! I look up to you to not just lie back and let things happen, but do what you can to fix and help and just…just to keep going, Peter! Why can't you do that anymore? Why can't you be the one I look up to anymore?"

"I…" Peter stammered. He shook his head as if to clear it. Lucy felt her own sorrow and fear welling up within her, tears stinging at her dry eyes. If there was anything they needed now, it wasn't this. "I…I can't, Ed, just…"

"There is no can't, Peter," said Edmund bitterly. "Not for you."

"Well that's easy for you to say, isn't it?" Peter suddenly flared up. "You can just…"

But Lucy had had enough. Turning on her heel, she flew to the door with a small sob, wrenched the tapestry pole from the handle and darted out into the hallway. She didn't know where to go, only that she had to get away from the oppressiveness she had left behind. It had been a long time since her brothers had fought like this – perhaps even since they'd first come to Narnia, but whatever the case, she couldn't handle it, not on top of everything that had happened within the past few days.

She ran until her breathing grew labored and her legs felt as if they were on fire. Gasping and sobbing, she leaned up against a wall that looked entirely foreign, uncertain how many staircases she had passed, uncertain even if someone had followed her or where she was in the castle. It appeared to be a hallway of some sort, and when she glanced out a window she saw not only that the storm had stopped but that she was quite high up. And suddenly, when the worst of her exhaustion and despair had passed, she realized that perhaps it wasn't quite such a good idea to be in some unknown part of the castle with no idea how to return to her brothers.

She swallowed hard, panic rising up in her stomach. It was then that the first of the castle people slipped up behind her, one frigid, bony hand wrapping its grotesquely long fingers around her wrist. The woman had crept up behind her silently and for one instant Lucy almost felt like it would be wrong to scream, but she found her voice in an instant and did so. Jerking her hand away from the cold grasp of her attacker, she made a move for one of the doors, hoping to be able to take refuge there, but it opened before she could reach it and several more skeletal people poured out, leering at her and advancing.

"Help!" she cried out.

She drew her dagger with a short ringing sound, holding it before her threateningly but forced to revolve constantly as to face the dozen or so assailants that had surrounded her in the narrow corridor. Her hands trembled. A man staggered forward with his arms outstretched, the skin upon his them stretched revoltingly. Ordinarily she would have been hesitant about using her weapon, but these people seemed so inherently inhuman and hostile, she immediately slashed out and drew a long gash from his elbow to his wrist. The skin flapped open – no blood. Lucy retched.

"Help!" she screamed again as more closed in around her. The castle people were all around her, smothering her, pushing her down to the floor, their claw-like hands scrabbling at her arms and legs as they sought to take the dagger from her blurred hand, lashing out at them. She could no longer see anything but horrifying faces looming above her. Even the light seemed to be blocked out.

Suddenly there was another sound from outside the mob, the pronounced, metallic unsheathing of a sword and a familiar voice.

"Lu!" Peter shouted urgently. There was a collective hiss from her attackers as the ones at the edge of the mob were smashed to one side, Rhindon slicing straight through their bodies and hewing their torsos from their legs. Lucy swallowed her tears and began to struggle again, kicking and flailing against the dead people that were now attempting to drag her down the hallway. She could hear her brother still struggling to reach her, and suddenly, there was a gap in the leering faces, light pouring in, revealing Peter's battle-lit eyes as he reached in to try and grab her away from her assailants.

But suddenly, his face contorted in pain, his head whipping around to face some new attacker. Lucy felt the strength of the skeletal people surge up despite her resistance, and suddenly she was being dragged away from him, away from safety.

"Peter!" she cried desperately. He looked up in time to receive a nasty blow in the side and staggered into the wall.

"Lucy!"

He made one last frantic dive for her, battering away mercilessly with his sword, but there were simply too many enemies between the two and he was forced back several paces, now probably fighting as much for his own life as for hers. At the last instant, before she was dragged away, Lucy suddenly realized that if Peter was here, he must have left Edmund alone in the room, unprotected, still wounded.

"Peter, Edmund!" she screamed out. His faced crumpled into downright terror and he cast her one last, frightened glance before he realized (as she had before) that there was no way he could get to her, then turned on his heel and bolted back down the hallway. The people did not follow.

As she was dragged down the corridor, head bumping the bony ankles of all her attackers, Lucy felt her consciousness slipping away. An unconscious prayer to Aslan for her brothers' safety escaped her stinging lips as the pounding of footsteps in her ears dulled to a painful murmur and the darkness above her became even dimmer. Still gripping her dagger convulsively, she plunged into a welcome numbness.